I don't know if Taylor Swift loves God, but I do know she's not the devil.
Haven't y'all ever heard of a metaphor?
Okay, I’m doing this thing.
*cracks knuckles and takes a deep breath*
For many months now, the rise in conservative commentary and evangelical backlash against America’s Sweetheart (i.e. Taylor Alison Swift) has grown to a fever pitch. Since the beginning of her outrageously successful Eras Tour in early 2023, Swift has earned herself some glowing titles from evangelical leaders and the political right, including—but not limited to!—“witch,” “Satanic,” and actively “anti-Christian” due to the lyrics in her songs, most recently from The Tortured Poets Department, as well as theatrical numbers performed on stage during her live performances.
As both a well-documented Swiftie who attended the Eras Tour with my ten-year-old daughter and a lifelong follower of Jesus, I have some thoughts on these accusations.
It was clear from the outset of Swift’s career that she was, at least at one time, a person of faith. References to prayer and God are littered throughout her earlier music, such as in “Our Song” when she sings “And when I got home/’fore I said ‘amen’/ asking God if He could play it again.” More examples include “I’ve got that good girl faith/in a tight little skirt” in “Style” and “This is me praying that / this was the very first page" in “Enchanted.” Positive religious imagery abounds, evidence perhaps of the more conservative environment she lived in when, at thirteen, her family made the move from Pennsylvania to Nashville. I distinctly remember seeing paparazzi photos of her heading into a church service once upon a time, but I can’t remember exactly when that was or find those photos online now, so take that with a grain of salt, I suppose. Either way, Swift was not antagonistic to faith, nor did she distance herself from it upon becoming a global superstar.
I would argue, in fact, that Swift’s music has only grown more religious over time. The woman loves a metaphor, and she applies them with a heavy hand in both her lyrics and song titles. The difference, I believe, between now and the early years of her career is that Swift seems less certain that faith in God is something she can count upon. And there is almost nothing that will rock a theo-bro with a microphone’s boat than uncertainty about God, especially if that uncertainty is expressed by a woman with power.
In “Soon You’ll Get Better,” an intimate look at Swift’s fear about losing her mother to breast cancer (Andrea Swift was diagnosed with the disease in 2015), the singer almost whispers the line “Holy orange bottles/each night I pray to you / Desperate people find faith/so now I pray to Jesus too,” evoking the desperation of a much-loved daughter. That line seems to point to a faith that has wavered over time, as though Swift has moved away from Christianity and now turns back to prayer only because she has no other options. A similar concept pops up in “Bigger Than the Whole Sky,” a song many have speculated is about the death of a young fan or even a possible miscarriage, when Swift asks “Did some force take you/because I didn’t pray?”
Never one to hide from her emotions, Swift expresses her doubts with vulnerability. Even further, she does what many Christians are afraid to do—but which the writers of the Psalms, not to mention poor Job, made no qualms about—and accuses God of taking from her that which she loves the most. To someone who makes their money spouting criticisms of any person more politically left than Marjorie Taylor Greene, Swift’s willingness to express doubt is low hanging fruit. But, like it or not, singing about what she feels is Swift’s claim to fame. It’s what she does best and it’s why she sells out stadiums all over the world, over and over again.
What appears to be missing in these latest critiques is the basic understanding that Taylor Swift is an artist. She weaves whole worlds with her words and compels her fans to follow along on the journey. Some might call this “spell-casting,” as Swift once playfully claimed her fans were doing at a concert, but it’s actually a reflection of the storytelling gift our heavenly Father has bestowed upon all of us. It’s why people see themselves in Swift’s music; not because she is divine and fans are her mindless, manipulated creations, but because her music reflects back at them their own painful, wonderful, romantic, hopeless, heartbreaking moments. She sets the stage for their memories and makes a symphony of it all.
Given her more progressive politics, it’s all too easy for critics to make assumptions about her faith because, in America, Christianity has been hijacked by the MAGA crowd who take zero issue with a leader found liable by a jury of his peers for rape (which should be more than enough of a disqualification on its own) but cannot abide the thought of two adults of the same sex making a lifelong commitment to one another. Not every Christian person or denomination interprets Scripture in the same way or views the complexities of human sexuality through the same lens, but it’s much easier to scoff at Swift’s progressive views and call her a witch than pay any close attention to the visible fruit in her life: She surprises fans with hand-wrapped Christmas gifts. She donated thousands of dollars to food banks in every city she played on the U.S. leg of the Eras Tour. She gave out around $55 million in bonuses to her crew, along with handwritten letters of thanks. She once hosted a thirteen-hour meet-and-greet with fans. She has great relationships with her parents and decades-long friendships with people who adore her.
But, okay. So what? Witches can be nice, too.
Then let’s look at what Swift herself has said about her faith.
In the 2018 documentary Miss Americana, Swift explicitly referred to herself as a Christian. In her critique of then-candidate for Tennessee Senate Marsha Blackburn, Swift called out Blackburn’s voting record and claims of “Tennessee Christian values” by saying, “I live in Tennessee. I am Christian. That’s not what we stand for.” Regardless of whether you agree with Swift’s political views, you can’t ask for a clearer statement when it comes to how she defines her religious faith.
A lot has happened since 2018, and it’s very possible that Swift has left Christianity behind in the years since that documentary was filmed. She doesn’t talk about it openly, the same way she doesn’t talk openly about her relationships. Swift’s faith—like everything else in her life—shows up in her songs. References to heaven, hell, angels, demons, holiness, and crucifixion are just a handful of the metaphors she employs to describe her relationships, heartbreaks, expectations of others, and public reputation. When she sings “We’d still worship this love” in “False God,” Swift reveals her self-deception about a romance that might or might not be the best thing for her. In “Guilty as Sin?”—one of her most recent tracks from TTPD and the catalyst for this preacher’s viral Facebook post—Swift muses “Without ever touchin’ his skin/how can I be guilty as sin?” Then she takes the public perception of her romance to task in the bridge:
What if I roll the stone away?
They're gonna crucify me anyway
What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?
If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me
They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly
I choose you and me religiously
This is not anti-Christian rhetoric. This is just a damn good metaphor. Swift is using language she knows well—that of the Gospel narrative and the pain of suffering through public judgment—to challenge the listener’s expectation that she make her choices based on what other people want. Given all that we know of Swift’s relationship with Travis Kelce alone, is it any wonder that she feels this way?
Another element of Swift’s work that has earned her this witchy, demonic reputation is the druid-inspired dance she does during the live performance of “Willow,” which honestly just looks more like Swift is an Outlander fan than anything legitimately pagan. It begs the question of whether critics have even listened to the song. She refers to her lover as "a mythical thing” she wants to “meet…after dark.” Do you hear that key, that ethereal melody? It’s like these people wouldn’t know artistic imagination if it slapped them in the face.
There’s so much fear in evangelicalism about people who do not toe the party line. I know this not only because I’ve seen it play out over and over in the culture at large, but because I’ve lived it. This is the Christianity I grew up with as a child of the See You At the Pole/WWJD/purity ring/Jesus Freak nineties. My first concert was Carmen, for goodness’ sakes. I know this world and only recently left it behind. My earliest years of faith, while full of many beautiful gifts, were riddled with legalism and unrealistic expectations about everything from my sex life to the slightest perceived sin. I was expected to evangelize my friends, challenge any and every behavior that hinted at impropriety, and be so pure that I even felt guilty wearing a sports bra alone in my dorm.
I honestly can’t even imagine the level of scrutiny that Taylor Swift has endured over the years, and the fact that she has emerged from the backlash to her every move with continued kindness, empathy, generosity, humility, and more self-control than I could ever practice in the same situation?
I don’t know about you, but that sounds a lot like a Christian to me.1